


At Peace with the Floor

by medjc



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff without Plot, Post-Canon, also there's no real plot like at all just letting u know, because who doesn't love that cliche, so uhhhhhh, this is my excuse to write self indulgent fluff, two idiots get turnt and wind up sleeping together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-11-12 08:49:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11158410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medjc/pseuds/medjc
Summary: She caaarefully scoots over to the edge of the bed, watching Rhys for any signs of consciousness. Not that it would matter at this point; what would she even be able to do if he did start waking up? Make a break for it completely naked? Smother him to death with a pillow? Talk this out like any reasonable adults with even the faintest understanding of their own emotions would?Hmm. Maybe not that last one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this assuming that Rhys and Fiona got back to Pandora after opening the vault and everyone's just chilling on the remains of the Helios base for a while. Ample opportunity for Bonding Time™.

Fiona is pretty sure that whatever the hell she's laying on top of right now is  _the_  most uncomfortable thing she's ever had the misfortune of waking up to.  

Which is reeeally saying something. She's had her fair share of rude awakenings in the past; everything from waking up to a skag about to take a crap on her head to getting elbowed in the face by a Psycho trying to eat her toes.  

But  _this_. This outranks any of that by a long shot, because not only is there something sharp pressing so far into her belly that she thinks it might actually be stabbing her, she is also very,  _very_  hungover.  

She opens her eyes, squinting to make out her surroundings. It's dark, but she can tell she's in someone's bedroom. It's not hers, that's for sure. There's a dresser pushed up against the wall she's facing, and a desk in the corner with a table lamp on it and little else. If this were her room, there'd be stuff everywhere. Sasha's always said she's too messy and unorganized, but Fiona just likes to think of herself as a very spread-out person.  

So with that being said, whose room is this? And why is she even here?  

_And what the actual hell am I laying on?_  the grumpy hangover voice in her head helpfully adds. Yes, thanks for that reminder. Not like she could forget about it, what with the agonizing pain she's in and all.  

Okay, maybe that's a little melodramatic, but still. It hurts. A lot. Figuring out all the _wheres_ and _whys_ can come later, _after_ the mystery stabby thing is no longer as pressing of an issue.

Haha get it, because it's pressing into her...  

Yeah, okay. Just move already.  

Fiona begins to untangle her arms from the mess of rough sheets she'd somehow managed to ensnare herself in, trying to prop herself up on her elbows. Her hair falls into her face, obscuring her vision, but she  _is_  able to make out that, one, she's completely shirtless- and from the feel of things she doesn't think she has any pants on either- and two, whatever she was just laying on is curiously arm shaped. And also entirely made of metal.  

She's a little slow to connect the dots. Like she said, she's  _really_  hungover.  

Her bed companion- bedpanion?- chooses this very opportune moment to let out an appalling snore. Like really, it's hideous, and to make it even worse there's only one person she knows who snores like that.  

Well. Shit.  

Even though she doesn't need any more confirmation- she'd honestly be able to pick him apart from a crowd by his snore alone, it's just so...  _ throaty _ \- she pushes her very tangled hair back from her face and turns onto her side. Because, uh, curiosity? Yeah, let's go with that. 

There he is, Mister Corporate Douche, sound asleep and probably dreaming about kicking puppies or whatever the hell a Hyperion desk jockey turned CEO would dream about. He's on his back with his mouth wide open, and Fiona tries very,  _very_  hard not to notice that he seems to be just as naked as she is. Which is very naked.  

Oh, god. They must have- they actually-  

Did they have  _sex_? 

Rhys snores again and Fiona thinks she might actually burst into tears at any moment. How did this even  _happen_? Actually now that she thinks about it, she doesn't even want to know. Clearly they... got nasty- and that fact alone will absolutely be giving her nightmares for the rest of her life- but the details of it are probably better off left in the repressed memory section of her brain. Forever.  

God, are those lipstick marks on his neck?  

Fiona abruptly decides that her next course of action is getting the hell out of here. As traumatic as this whole experience is right now, she really doesn't want to still be here when Rhys wakes up.  

She caaarefully scoots over to the edge of the bed, watching Rhys for any signs of consciousness. Not that it would matter at this point; what would she even be able to do if he did start waking up? Make a break for it completely naked? Smother him to death with a pillow? Talk this out like any reasonable adults with even the faintest understanding of their own emotions would?  

Hmm. Maybe not that last one.  

Fiona swings her legs around and sits up and  _wow_  that is one hell of a headache. How did she not notice that before? Oh yeah, because Rhys' arm was stabbing her. That was pretty damn distracting. She looks down and yep, there's totally an angry looking mark from that. Well, at least she isn't bleeding. That's always a plus, right? There are a bunch of other mystery bruises on her chest though, and she definitely doesn't want to know how those got there, nope.  

A quick glance around the room gives her the impression that locating all her clothes might be more difficult than she initially thought. For one, it's really dark in here, and turning on the bedside lamp probably isn't the best idea.  

But it also looks like in the process of undressing each other, they must have flung things off in random directions like just dropping it to the floor in one convenient pile wasn't good enough or something. So not only did her and Rhys almost definitely have sex, but they must have been so enthusiastic during the undressing portion of it that they were just tearing each other's clothes off with wild abandon.  

Shit, whatever, this is fine. She'll just hobble around Rhys' room with her tits and ass out picking through their discarded clothing like this isn't  _the_  most mortifying thing she's ever had to do. No biggie.  

Sasha would probably  _die_  if she ever found out about this.  

Fiona actually finds and pulls most of her clothes on in record time, getting antsier with every extra second she has to spend listening to Rhys snore like he's got a goddamn wood chipper in his throat. She can't find her left sock but at this point she doesn't even care, he can keep it. She's probably going to burn everything she's wearing anyways because she doesn't want to be looking through her closet next week and just be all,  _hey that's the shirt I had on when I got totally wasted and slept with Rhys_!  

She doesn't know why but she takes one last look at him as she's creeping towards the door. He looks almost... peaceful. All sound asleep with drool running down half his face. Even from here she can see smears of red lipstick against the blue of his tattoos, and for some god forsaken reason that makes her face heat up. Um. Okay.  

Then her gaze slides sideways and she notices that her hat is sitting on the bedside table on the opposite side of the bed. Because of course it is. Was that one of the last things to come off or something? Maybe Rhys has a hat fetish.  

Heaving a sigh, Fiona begins to tiptoe her way back over to retrieve it.  

And then Rhys suddenly stops snoring.  

She freezes, craning her neck around to watch him. Sometimes people randomly stop snoring in their sleep, right? That doesn't mean they're waking up. Not all the time.  

But they don't usually start rubbing at their eyes or trying to sit themselves upright.  

Shit. Shit, shit,  _shit_.  

Fiona runs through her options. She's not even halfway around the bed so the most direct route would be just jumping over it entirely. Rhys is still trying to regain all his fine motor functions and hasn't even opened his eyes yet, but she's pretty damn sure that leaping over him like he's some kind of parkour obstacle would shock him right into full consciousness. Continuing around the bed would be a lot slower, which would give him more time to wake up on his own and the last thing she wants is to be trapped in here with a hungover puppy-eyed chump between her and the door.  

Dammit. She's going to have to leave it. The sock thing was whatever because he'd never be able to prove it was hers, but her goddamn  _hat_...  

Rhys finally finds his bearings and sits himself up on his elbows, running a hand through his adorably disheveled hair.  

Oookay. And with that very unnerving thought, it's time to go.  

She spins around on her heel, sneaking back towards the door as fast as she dares. Adorable? Really? What even- there's nothing  _adorable_  about Rhys. He's- well he's dorky, but not endearingly so. Not even close. He's just-  

"Um."  

Her head whips around. He's looking right at her, mouth slightly agape.  

_Fuck_.  

Fiona doesn't think she's ever moved so fast in her entire life. She's out the door in a heartbeat, sprinting through the living area of his apartment and yanking the front door open. She throws herself a little too forcefully into the hallway, losing her balance and just barely catching herself on the wall. With her face. Because what's a daring escape without a little bit of nose blood to make it sexy? It really is the perfect way to wrap up this series of incredibly unfortunate events. 

After prying herself away from the wall, she starts hauling ass down the corridor. The adrenaline is hardly enough to get her all the way back to her and Sasha's place, and she nearly collapses in relief as soon as she bursts through the front door.  

Sasha blinks at her from the kitchen, sandwich in hand. "What the hell happened to y-"  

" _I don't want to talk about it_." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic so please be gentle. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	2. Chapter 2

There's no doubt about it. Fiona is definitely avoiding him.  

Which, given what happened, Rhys doesn't necessarily blame her. He'd probably do the same thing if he was the one caught trying to slip out of his drunken one night stand's apartment. Except not really, because he'd still have the same overwhelming need to talk to her, but whatever. Point is, he can empathize.  

Still, couldn't she have left a note or something? Maybe like, _hey, I'm going to ignore you for the rest of eternity and also don't ever say a word about this to anybody or I will kill you in your sleep_? That sounds like something she would say.  

She could have at least told him if she wanted her hat back or not. It's been three days and it's still sitting exactly where she left it, gathering dust on the table beside his bed. Every time he looks at it he gets this little... _thing_ , right in the center of his chest. The same _thing_ he felt when they opened the Vault. When he finally drudged up enough courage to imply how he felt about her and it just. Flew right over her head.  

At this point he just wants his friend back, but she keeps blowing him off. Every time he so much as breathes in her general direction it's like she's suddenly got somewhere else to be. And like he said, he can sort of understand it. If he squints hard enough.  

Understanding it doesn't make it hurt any less.  

"Hey man, are you even listening to me?" Vaughn waves a hand in front of Rhys' face, pulling him from the depths of his own broodiness and back into the present. They're eating lunch in the old office that the four of them had turned into a communal break room. Up until recently, they'd all usually eaten together, but lately Fiona either comes in just as everyone else is leaving or she doesn't show up at all.

"What? Yeah, I was listening," Rhys says. He totally wasn't. "Kinda."  

"Really?" Vaughn says around a mouthful of drakefruit, leaning back in his chair. Rhys' own lunch sits mostly untouched, except for all the flies it's attracting. "Then what did I just say?"  

"Well." Rhys picks at the crust of his sandwich, not meeting his eyes. "When you put it like _that_..."  

"So you weren't listening."  

"I said I _kinda_ was. There's a difference."  

Vaughn rolls his eyes. "I was just saying that you've been walking around with this look on your face-"  

" _What_ look?"  

"-ever since Fiona started acting flaky. And there it is again! All I have to do is say her name. Like this; Fiona, Fiona, Fiona-"  

"Okay, okay, stop." Rhys crosses his arms over his chest. His face is getting all hot because apparently his sympathetic nervous system didn't get the memo about staying inconspicuous. Thanks for that, involuntary bodily functions! "I have no idea what you mean. About either of those things."

"Uh-huh. Sure you don't. Do you really think none of us have noticed how weird you two have been lately?"  

"Pffft. We haven't been weird. Maybe- Maybe _you're_ weird, did you ever consider that?"  

Vaughn gives him this look like he doesn't believe him for a second. Which Rhys completely deserves, because that was a terrible lie. "You don't want to talk about it. I get that. You must have really pissed her off though because she's been looking at you like you just killed her dog. Well, if she had a dog. You know what I mean."  

Now it's Rhys' turn to roll his eyes. "It's not like that," he says, but actually, well, maybe it is. He can't really know for sure because it's not like she's _talked_ to him or anything.  

"You sure about that? If I were you, I'd be sleeping with one eye open." Vaughn reaches over and rips a piece off Rhys' sandwich without even asking. "Which I'm glad I'm not, because I think she's coming for you."  

And because he apparently lacks the self control to stop himself, Rhys goes, "Don't worry, she already did."  

Dammit. What the hell. Like, what the actual _hell_ is wrong with him.  

And Vaughn doesn't miss that little comment either. He gets all quiet, probably analyzing those five words down to their individual letters. Standing up roughly, Rhys goes to dump the remains of his mutilated sandwich in the garbage. Unless Vaughn missed out on the 'inappropriate sex jokes' phase as a kid, there's no way he's not going to figure out exactly what that was supposed to mean.  

Turning back around, he finds Vaughn slack jawed and pointing a finger at him accusingly. "You-"  

"I have to go," Rhys interrupts, edging around the table towards the door. "I have, um, business... stuff..."  

Jumping up from his seat, Vaughn moves to body block him. "Ohhh no you don't. I checked your schedule, you don't have any meetings until three. Start talking."  

Rhys tries to squeeze around him but Vaughn pushes back and jabs his finger into his chest. Okay, _ow_ , was that really necessary? "Whatever you're thinking, Vaughn, it's not like that."  

"You know, you keep saying that but I really don't believe you."  

Throwing his hands up because _dammit_ , there's really no way out of this, Rhys slumps back down into his chair. "What do you want me to say? That I- that _we_ -"  

"So something did happen."  

"I-I mean. Yeah. Something happened."  

"Something..." Vaughn waggles his eyebrows in the most uncomfortable manner possible. "...erotic?"  

Rhys tries not to choke on his own spit. " _Dude_."

 

-

 

So the cat's out of the bag, which doesn’t come as any great surprise because Rhys can admit he has the biggest mouth out of anyone else he knows. And even though it was painfully difficult at first- especially with Vaughn's wiggly eyebrows- Rhys felt- well, he felt a lot of things, but the  _ relief _ at finally getting it off his chest was overwhelming. At least until he started thinking about what Fiona would do to him if she ever found out, and then he peed himself a little. Or more than a little.  

But Vaughn vowed to keep his lips sealed, which, to be perfectly honest, didn't really make Rhys feel a whole lot better. Fiona has this weird sixth sense for sniffing out secrets- most likely a perk of being a con artist for most of her life- but whatever. It's the thought that counts, right?  

So other than Fiona consistently going out of her way to avoid him, Vaughn giving him this knowing look every time it happens, and Sasha looking convincingly baffled about it all, everything continues as normal. And things are fine like that for about a week. The marks Fiona had left on him fade, he moves her hat into a drawer so he doesn't have to look at it as much, and he stops laying awake at night for hours trying to remember what her skin felt like against his.  

...Admittedly, he's still working on that last one.  

But it's fine, really. He's slowly accepting that what happened between them that night was just some fluke that probably didn't mean anything to her, and that's fine. He doesn't mind it. Like, okay, yeah, he _minds_ it, but if it comes down to it, he could live like this.  

Or at least, he thought he could, up until the first time she actually speaks to him.  

It's one of those nights where the bits and pieces he can remember of, er, _the incident_ won't stop haunting him. It's really late- or maybe it's early- but he can't take another minute of it so he pulls some pants on to go for a walk. Because walking and thinking feels a lot more productive than staring at his ceiling and thinking. Plus he's really craving a peanut butter sandwich right now.  

So he starts heading over to their little break room since last he checked, there was still some peanut butter left. Hopefully Sasha didn't just leave the crusts of the bread again because if she did, trust him when he says they will have _words_.  

What he doesn't expect, however, is for someone to already be sitting at the table when he gets there.  

And what he expects even less is for that someone to be... Fiona. Wearing what looks like nothing but an oversized t-shirt. Does she have pants on? He can't tell. She wouldn't come here without wearing any, right?  

...Shit. He should stop staring at her legs like, _right now_.  

She looks just as surprised as he feels, glancing up from stirring something around in a mug. But she doesn't immediately bolt at the sight of him, which is new and unusual. Maybe he's dreaming right now. That would explain a lot, especially her lack of pants.

"Hi," she says, pulling her legs up into the chair and resting her mug on her knees. Just like that. _Hi_. Like she hasn't been fleeing in the opposite direction every time her Rhys radar goes off for the past week and a half. "Can't sleep?"  

"Uh," he says stupidly. She gives him a second to collect his thoughts, but all he can muster is a lame, "Nope."  

"Me either." She takes a sip from her mug, watching him. "You coming in or are you just going to stand in the doorway all night?"  

"I- well-" He simultaneously tries to think of something smart to say and figure out how to make his legs work again which results in him doing neither. He never was very good at multitasking.  

Fiona looks vaguely amused, hiding her smile behind her drink. At least _she's_ enjoying this.  

"I'm not going to run off this time," she adds quietly. "Promise."  

Well, that's reassuring. But she might only be saying that because he's blocking the door.  

Heaving a sigh, he moves further into the room towards the fridge where they keep all their snacks. He half expects her to take off as soon as he's too far away to stop her, but surprisingly, she stays right where she is.  

Well, this is all very weird and unexpected, but he came here on a mission. He starts digging through the cupboard under the counter for peanut butter. Much to his dismay, the smooth jar is completely empty, while the crunchy one is half full. Who even got the crunchy kind? He's tempted to throw it in the trash out of spite.  

But then he wouldn't have anything for his sandwich. So he swallows his pride, grabs the bread- and of course only the gross end pieces are left, thanks for nothing Sasha- and starts scooping it out of the jar with a knife. God, he hates this stuff. It's just so stupidly hard to spread and it gets stuck in his teeth for _hours_ \-  

"Rhys," Fiona says behind him, interrupting his very important inner argument about peanut butter. He glances over his shoulder and she's sitting on the table now with her legs dangling off the side, hands clasped together in her lap.  

"Yeah?" He turns back around, ignoring the fact that he still can't tell whether she has shorts on or not. Why does he keep checking? Why does he even care?  

"I..." She starts but trails off all meaningfully. Rhys finishes making his disappointment of a sandwich and turns around to face her. She looks like she's trying to decide what she wants to say, so in the meantime he bites off a mouthful of disgusting crunchy wrongness. Eugh.  

"I'm sorry," she finally finishes after a brief staring contest that Rhys totally won. Then he registers what she said, which makes him raise his eyebrows.

"For what?" he asks between bites. There's about a million things she could be referring to and she's usually so unapologetic that he can't even imagine her being sorry for half of them.  

She huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. "For... avoiding you. For not saying anything. I shouldn't have just left it like I did."  

Oh.  

Rhys pops the last of his sandwich in his mouth, chewing slowly to buy some time. The way she said it... Well. He can tell she's being sincere, at least. It sounds like she needed some time to think, and even though she could have just _told_ him that, he can't bring himself to be angry about it. He hadn't even really thought about how _she_ might feel about the whole thing, so now he kind of just feels like an ass.  

That's pretty much a regular Tuesday for him, though.  

She has this look on her face that he can't quite read, her hands fisted in the sleeves of her shirt. He realizes he's taking a while to respond, so he just shrugs with one shoulder and offers her a half smile. "Don't worry about it, Fi."  

She lets out a breath, ducking her head. "Thanks," is all she says, sliding off the table and onto the ground. She looks like she means to sit back down but then changes her mind, grabbing her mug and going to rinse it out in the sink.  

"What happens now?" Rhys asks before he can think better of it. Oh yeah, good idea. Make amends and then immediately scare her off by implying he has _expectations_.  

She tilts her head to the side, scrubbing the inside of her cup. "What do you mean?"  

"I-I just mean..." He runs a hand over the back of his neck. He doesn't even really know what he meant so he says the first thing that pops in his head. "Does this change anything?"  

Great. Even worse than his other vague and totally-not-emotionally-loaded question. _Real_ smooth, Rhys.  

"Do you want it to?" she says instead of hitting him or dashing out the door like he fully anticipated she would. Still not meeting his eyes, she sets her cup next to the sink and starts drying her hands off on her shirt. It comes up just enough and- yes, okay, she _is_ wearing shorts under there. That's one mystery solved.  

But he wants to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her like, _I've been trying to tell you that I like you for months now, thanks for finally noticing_ , but instead he just stammers like an idiot. "That's- um-"  

"It doesn't have to," she says quickly. No. _Shit_. Goddammit.  

"Fi, wait-"  

"Let's just forget about it."  

He's pretty sure his heart stops. That is, like, the exact opposite of what he wants to do. He's not even sure if he _can_. "...What?"  

"That would be the simplest thing to do, right?" She's still staring down at the sink, but she shrugs so easily, so _nonchalantly_ , like it's not a big deal.

Like she's not breaking his heart right now.  

He tries to swallow but there's something in his throat that won't budge. "Is... Is that what you want?"  

She's quiet for a moment, chewing on her lip. "I don't know," she admits. Suddenly she looks so much smaller than she really is.  

"We can figure it out," he tries, but he can feel her already pulling away. She's standing right next to him and at the same time she's not here at all.

"Maybe," she says, but he knows deep down that she doesn't mean it. She starts moving towards the door and he's just frozen, standing there like a jackass. He wants to say something, _anything_ , but what can he say when she doesn't even-  

"Goodnight, Rhys." She looks back at him as she slips out the door. Something in her face changes, something so small that he almost doesn't notice it. Then she turns away, and he finally opens his mouth because she's slipping through his fingers, dammit, he has to _say_ something-  

But she's already gone.  

Sighing, he drags his hands over his face. He's suddenly exhausted, given that what just happened might have been the most depressing and pathetic thing he's ever experienced. And you know what makes it so much worse?

He really wants another peanut butter sandwich, but he just used the last of the goddamn bread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Don't make it angsty...  
> Also me: ° ͜ʖ ͡ – ✧


	3. Chapter 3

Fiona holds her breath and counts to five, trying her damnedest not to lose her shit.

"Fi? You okay?" Sasha is leaning up against the counter, a spoonful of cereal halfway to her mouth. "You have this... weird look on your face."

Oh _does_ she now? Why does that not surprise her? Having an emotional meltdown in the middle of breakfast tends to do that kind of thing, she thinks.

And it _really_ doesn't help that everyone else is staring at her now too. Vaughn actually stops digging around in the fridge to turn around and look at her and August somehow brings himself to stop making googly eyes at Sasha for a few seconds. The only one _not_ looking at her is Rhys, who seems oddly fascinated with his bagel.

The silence is oppressive for a moment until Fiona bangs a fist on the table. "Will you all stop staring at me like I'm some sideshow circus act? It's dehumanizing."

"She's right," August says like anyone asked for his opinion. "You got this thing going on with your eyebrows. It's kinda freaky."

Fiona makes a face at him. "Gee, thanks. You sure know how to flatter a lady."

Vaughn sighs and turns back to the fridge, but not before exchanging this _look_ with Rhys. What the hell is that all about? It's like they're communicating with just their eyeballs. She wants to ask but even thinking about talking to Rhys makes her palms all sweaty. Well, sweatier than they already are, because just sitting across from him is already giving her a minor panic attack.

Somehow it never occurred to her that pretending nothing had happened between them would make things _worse_. They'd only had that discussion last night and she's already deeply regretting it. And of course Rhys can sit there and be all normal and unbothered like she didn't literally ask him to forget about the fact that they had _sex_. Like, why is this so easy for him? Does he just not _care_??

God, whatever. Why should she care if he cares? She's the one that wanted this. She can't back out now, and even if she could she doesn't think she'd have the courage to. But damn, that look Rhys gave her as she was walking out that door... She's not going to lie, he can pull one hell of a puppy face. It almost made her change her mind, but that ship has sailed and all she can do about it now is lie awake at night wondering what could have been.

For some reason, August is still watching her, probably analyzing every twitch on her face as she mulls over just how badly she screwed up. It's _really_ starting to piss her off. "Can you stop doing that?"

"Doing what?" August crosses his arms over his chest.

"That thing. With your eyes."

He blinks. "Seeing?"

 " _Staring_ ," Fiona corrects, leaning back in her chair. "It's weird. Go back to ogling at Sasha, at least she likes it."

Sasha nearly chokes on her cereal and August just scowls, but the tips of his ears are turning pink. Bingo.

"Okay!" Sasha drops her bowl in the sink with a _clang_ , spinning around to glare at Fiona. "Can we not do this right now? It's not even nine yet."

"It's always time for _looove_ ," Fiona says innocently. Vaughn finally decides on a cup of yogurt for breakfast and takes a seat next to her, trying not to look amused. "See? Vaughn agrees with me."

"Um, what?" Vaughn uses a hand to cover his half-smile, shaking his head. "I didn't say anything. Please don't drag me into this."

Sasha huffs and rolls her eyes. Oooh, so _dramatic_. "Don't even start with me on this, Fi. Not when all of us have to pretend not to notice how you and Rhys are always undressing each other with your eyes whenever you think nobody else is watching. It's _really_ uncomfortable."

Everything stops being funny all of a sudden. She did _not_ just go there.

August is nodding, looking a hell of a lot more smug than he ought to. "Yeah. What she said."

Oh shut _up_ , August, nobody asked you. Nobody asked _anybody_ , in fact, and yet here they all are. Fiona kind of wants to crawl under the table but after thinking about it for a moment, she's pretty sure she wouldn't fit. Plus it wouldn't solve like, anything, but still. It might have made her feel just a _teensy_ bit better.

And she also wouldn't have to deal with everybody staring at her. Again. Even Rhys this time.

" _What_?" she says after an unbearably awkward silence. "Why is everyone looking at _me_? She said Rhys does it too!"

"So." Sasha folds her arms over her chest, appearing to be very satisfied with herself. "You admit it then."

"I did _not_ say that." Fiona scowls, feeling her face heat up.

"You didn't deny it."

"Yes I did! I mean- I am! This is me denying it, right now. We've never-" Fiona makes some vague hand motions, "- _undressed_ each other, with our eyes or otherwi-" She stops herself. "...We've never done that."

Vaughn snorts into his yogurt and everyone looks at him, but he just waves a hand. "Sorry. Just appreciating the dramatic irony. Don't let me interrupt."

And what in the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?

Vaughn jumps as Rhys kicks him under the table and they have another one of their nonverbal exchanges but with a lot more glaring this time. Oh, Fiona has a pretty good idea of what exactly is going on here and she doesn't like it. She doesn't like it at _all_.

Sasha shakes her head and turns around to start rinsing her bowl out in the sink. "Whatever you say, Fi. I'm just saying you shouldn't throw stones in glass houses."

Fiona might have said something else to that if she wasn't so busy having an epiphany. She's looking back and forth between Rhys and Vaughn, all the puzzle pieces coming together to form a picture that leaves a bad taste in her mouth. Well, it was really just one piece, so she guesses it wasn't much of a puzzle, but still.

She tilts her head to the side, catching Rhys' eye. "Are you _kidding_ me right now?"

He looks confused for a second, probably from the shock of her actually addressing him after what happened last night. It surprises her too but she's suddenly not anxious or upset or whatever it was that she was feeling before; now she's just _angry_. Maybe she's incapable of feeling more than one strong emotion at a time? That would make sense.

Rhys opens and closes his mouth a few times, clearly at a loss for what to say. "Uh-"

Fiona stands up so quickly that he actually leans back in his chair, nearly losing his balance. "What is _wrong_ with you? Do you even- do you _know_ what discretion means or are you just-"

"It was an _accident_ ," Rhys chokes out, jumping up from his seat and starting to back away. Ohhh no he doesn't. He's not going to get out of here without giving her an explanation first. Fiona moves around the table, taking a step forward for every step he takes back.

"How do you _accidentally_ tell someone something like that? Huh?"

"It just... It just came out, okay? I couldn't help it."

Vaughn snickers- oh yeah,  _real_ mature- and Fiona glares at him over her shoulder. "Will you shut _up_?"

"Sorry, sorry," Vaughn tries to stifle his laughter behind his hand but he only winds up laughing harder. "It's just- this is hilarious. You guys know that, right?"

"Doesn't seem that way from over here!" Rhys retorts as his back hits the door.

"Okay, I really hate to interrupt," Sasha says, looking between all three of them, "but would someone mind telling me what the hell is going on right now?"

Everyone stops moving. Well, it was really just her and Rhys that were moving, but they both freeze in their tracks. August doesn't say anything but he's watching everything unfold with interest, although why he even cares is a bit of a mystery. As if Vaughn knowing about all this isn't bad enough, but now Sasha and August want in on it too? Why does Rhys have to have such a big mouth?? This is obviously all his fault and she had nothing to do with it whatsoever.

No one says anything else for a few seconds. And then Vaughn pipes up, "Well if you really want to know..."

" _Don't_ ," Fiona and Rhys say at the exact same time.

Sighing, Vaughn gets up to throw his empty yogurt cup in the trash before grabbing another from the fridge.

Sasha looks at Fiona expectantly but the thought of telling the unfortunate tale of how she ended up naked and hungover in Rhys' bed just isn't all that appealing at the moment. She can't even remember most of it, so it's not like she can explain what her whole thought process was. Somehow she doesn't think that flat out saying they got hammered and slept together would appease Sasha's curiosity. Or August's for that matter, even though it's none of his business.

Fiona looks back at Rhys, who just kind of shrugs and makes an 'I don't know' sound. She has no idea why she expected more than that; she's always cleaning up his messes so why would this be an exception? Because again, this is definitely all his fault.

"Okay _look_ ," Fiona says, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "I'll tell you everything later, Sash, I promise."

"Yeah that's what you said when you came home the other day looking like you got in a fistfight with a ska-" Sasha cuts herself off, considering Fiona for a moment. "Wait a minute."

Ah, that's her sister, sharp as a whip. Or whatever. Usually that's a good thing but right now it's kind of screwing Fiona over.

"Later," Fiona insists. "I swear." Sasha looks a little dumbstruck from her revelation and Fiona takes the opportunity to march over to Rhys and start dragging him out the door.

"What are you-"

"We need to have a little _chat_ about your lack of common sense."

Rhys looks a little frightened. Good. He _should_. "Why do I get the feeling this chat will involve more violence than actual talking?"

Fiona rolls her eyes and yanks him out into the hallway, but not before hearing August say to Sasha, "I still don't get what's going on."

Let him bask in his ignorance while he still can. Not everyone can be so lucky.

Fiona pulls Rhys along by the arm for about twenty seconds before she realizes she has no idea where she's going. Or what she's even doing. Like yeah she wants an explanation, but how exactly does she plan on getting it? Bodily harm isn't really her style, and while Rhys looking thoroughly terrified of her does wonders for her ego, she does feel kind of bad. And it also suddenly occurs to her that he might be just as weirded out and confused as she is. Avoiding him for a week and then pretty much asking him to internalize all his feelings about what happened probably didn't help matters much either.

Yeesh. She's been _such_ an ass.

Rhys clears his throat behind her. "I don't mean to, uh, disturb you from... whatever it is that you're doing, but we've been standing here for about a minute now and people are starting to stare."

Oh she doesn't even want to _look_ at him now let alone haul him off to some torturous interrogation. But he's right about one thing; she guesses standing stock still in the middle of the hallway  _does_ make them seem a little odd. But do people really have to _gawk_? Like honestly. It's rude.

"Okay." Fiona releases Rhys' wrist after becoming keenly aware that she hadn't stopped holding it. "New plan."

"There was an old plan?"

"Shut up. We're going to your place."

He makes a pretty hilarious face at that. "We're doing _what_? No way."

"Yes way! Get moving, I don't know how to get there from here. All these hallways look the same to me, all ugly and... Hyperiony."

"Okay, um, again, going to have to say no to that." He raises an eyebrow at her. "If you're going to kill me then I'd rather you do it where there are witnesses."

She huffs, crossing her arms. "I'm not going to _kill_ you. I won't even touch a single hair on your pretty little head, okay? Does that make you feel better?"

He still looks unconvinced. "Not... really."

"Oh come _on_ ," she groans, exasperated. "I just... I just want to talk. To you. Alone. Without anyone else in the room to make it weird. Or weirder than it already will be. At any rate, it'll be better than standing here like a couple of jackasses."

"Ehhh." He just  _shrugs_.

" _Rhys_."

"Relax! I'm kidding." He spins around, probably trying to figure out exactly where they are, before he jerks his head back towards the direction they came from. "Come on, it's this way. And if you were just lying to earn my trust or- or whatever, I swear I'll..."

She walks beside him, bumping her shoulder into his. Like old times. If a few weeks ago can be considered _old_. "You'll what? Do go on, you got me all curious now."

He spares her a dry look, leading them left down another hallway. "I'm just saying."

Fiona successfully gets herself turned around two more times before Rhys guides them down a corridor that looks vaguely familiar. Well it's actually not that different from any of the other ones they walked through to get here, but the small smear of blood on the wall directly opposite of the door to Rhys' apartment is pretty recognizable.

He catches her staring at it. "Oh, uh, don't worry about that. It kind of appeared out of nowhere but I'm sure it's fine. Probably."

"It's mine," she says, turning back around to face him. He stops messing with the lock on his door for a second to squint at her, probably trying to figure out if she's being serious or not. "I... might have smashed my face on the wall when- the last time I was here."

"You-" he starts and then stops immediately, just considering her for a moment. And then he shakes his head and starts _giggling_  at her, much to her disdain.

"Stop laughing! It's not funny!"

"Aw, come on. It's a _little_  funny."

"Oh for- _whatever_. Just open the door, wiseass."

Once they're inside, Fiona doesn't really know what to do with herself. It's so strange being here again given all the _stuff_  that went down. She wonders how Rhys deals with it? He's the one that has to sleep in his bed every night. If it was her, she'd probably be sleeping on the couch. Or on the floor in her room most likely, so Sasha wouldn't ask questions.

 _Dammit_. She almost forgot about Sasha. She's going to have to relive this whole nightmare again later which she's _really_  not looking forward to. That is if she even survives this ordeal with Rhys, and if her sweaty palms are any indication, the outlook is a bit bleak.

"Do you... Do you want to sit?" Rhys seems a little unsure of himself too, not really meeting her eyes. Which is good, that's a good thing. She doesn't think she can handle eye contact right now. Too intense.

"Not especially," she says, but she does move further into the apartment so she's not standing just inside the doorway like an idiot. The layout is similar to the place where her and Sasha are staying, with one medium sized room serving as both a living space and a kitchen. It looks pretty barren compared to theirs though, but not really in terms of furnishings; both are lacking in that department. Fiona and Sasha's apartment has clothes and guns and other miscellaneous stuff strewn across every available surface, while Rhys' is just... eerily empty. She's starting to wonder if he even really lives here.

Drifting over to his couch, she tries to force herself to sit. Rhys follows her but remains standing, and after a second she gets back up and starts pacing. She's too antsy to sit still right now.

"I'm... sorry about telling Vaughn," he eventually says, watching her walk back and forth like a crazy person. "It- It really was an accident, okay? I mean, maybe not an _accident_ , but it just kinda- Look, it's complicated. But I _am_  sorry. Really."

"What? I don't care about that. I mean I kind of do but that's not what this is about." She shoots him a dark look. "Just give me a second, alright? This isn't as easy for me as it is for you."

He raises his eyebrows at her. "Oh, is _that_ what you think? You really think this has been easy for me?"

"Well it certainly doesn’t look like it's been _hard_."

He frowns at that, shaking his head. "You're the one that wanted to forget about it, Fiona."

"Well." She stops pacing, folding her arms in front of her. "Yeah."

"So... I'm confused. What exactly is the problem here?"

She's been trying to figure _that_  out all morning and she's no closer to an answer than she was to begin with. Throwing her hands up, she flops down onto his couch with a huff. "I don't know! I just- I _thought_  that it would fix everything. Which sounds stupid now but at the time it seemed really promising, okay? But then this morning you're just sitting there all- all _nonchalant_  like nothing even happened-"

"Because that's what you _wanted_ -"

" _I know that_!" She buries her face in her hands. This is so stupid. _She's_  so stupid. "...Did it ever occur to you that maybe I was lying?"

She doesn't know why she says it at first because the notion that she would lie about that just seems so ridiculous. _Obviously_  she meant what she said, otherwise she wouldn't have said it, right? But that's such a flimsy excuse when she really thinks about it, because if she _had_  meant it then she wouldn't be sitting here feeling like a total chump. She wouldn't have cared that Rhys didn't seem to be as upset as she felt; hell, she wouldn't have even been upset in the first place.

God. She actually _likes_ him.

And she feels pretty stupid for taking so long to realize what was in front of her the whole damn time. Maybe she just didn't want to acknowledge it or something? Which was fine for a while, up until they wound up sleeping together. Yeah, that certainly threw a wrench in things, didn't it? But now they're here at a crossroads once again, except this time Fiona doesn't plan on fucking it all up.

He's quiet for so long that she scrapes together enough courage to glance up at him. He's staring at the wall over her head with this weird look on his face that's like halfway between a grimace and a smile. It's actually kind of disturbing. No one's face should be able to _do_  that.

"Rhys?"

He looks back down at her, his expression smoothing out into something a little more normal looking. "I... no, I can't say that thought ever crossed my mind. I didn't really have a reason to think you were lying."

"See, that's your problem right there. Never trust a con artist."

"Oh so it's _my_  fault for not picking up on your double meaning or whatever the hell you want to call it. I see how it is."

"What? No. I mean, maybe? Wait- no." Fiona pushes herself up from the couch and moves to stand in front of him, poking him in the chest. "That's not what I'm saying at all. Are you even listening?"

He catches her hand, his fingers all warm and soft around hers. "You know how we corporate tools are, always needing things spelled out for us to understand them."

Oh _that's_ subtle. They're so close to each other that she has to tilt her head up to look at him, which is rather infuriating since she's trying to maintain her composure here. But it's really hard to do that when he's leaning over her with this shit-eating grin on his face. She wants to smack him. Or maybe kiss him. Or... both? Not at the same time. Actually, that would be pretty funny.

"You're the _worst_." Her whole face feels hot, all the way up to her ears. She tries to push herself away a little so maybe she can actually catch her breath for a second. Before she can get far he pulls her veeery gently back in, closer than she was before, and wraps his arms around her. If she wanted to she could break his grip, but you know what? She likes it right here. It's all nice and warm and he actually smells really good. Which is weird. That's a weird thing to notice.

"Seriously though," he sighs, resting his chin on top of her head. "Do you- I mean. Are you saying what I think you're saying? Because... this is about to get _very_  awkward if you're not."

She snorts and pokes him in the ribs which makes him jump. She was wrong before. Rhys _is_  adorable. In so many ways it's kind of absurd. "Should I break out my gel pens and write you a cute little note asking if you like-like me? Would that get the point across?"

"Only if you add a bunch of hearts and rig it so the only two answers are _yes_  and _absolutely_."

She laughs into his chest. "I think I can do that."

They stay like that for a few more moments, just holding onto each other in comfortable silence. The first one of the day, she realizes. All the other ones have either been uncomfortable or downright awkward. She... could get used to this.

Not that she's ever done anything like this before. The whole... relationship thing. She's never stayed one person long enough to commit to one, moving around too fast to grow roots and playing a different part for every job. Sure she's had some flings here and there but they were never anything she wanted to tie herself down to.

Rhys is... He's different in that regard. It's cheesy- so cheesy that she's making herself blush just by thinking about it- but it's true. She wants him to stick around for a while, which isn't something she's used to.

"I'm, uh," she starts, fisting her hands in the back of his shirt out of nervousness, "I'm not... too good at this kind of thing. Just so you know."

"What? Hugging? You're doing great, Fi."

She honestly can't tell if he's just teasing her or not. "No you  _dope_. I mean- I mean like romantic crap. I don't know how it works. Like in  _theory_  I get it I guess. But in practice..."

He pulls back to consider her for a second, and then he gets this huge grin on his face. "Aw, does somebody have their first crush?"

" _No_ , that's not what I was-"

"Tell me." He cups her face and she's so surprised by it that she actually lets him keep doing it. "Truthfully. Have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?"

"I- what?"

"Have you ever licked a lamppost in winter. It's a simple question."

Is that... Is that an innuendo? "I've licked lots of lampposts, thanks for asking. What does that have to do with anything?"

" _Oooh_ ," he says, running a thumb across her cheek. Okay that is  _really_  distracting. "And your tongue never got stuck?"

"...Is this still a metaphor for sex?"

He gasps, looking all fake surprised. "Is  _that_  what you thought I was saying? I was genuinely asking if you'd ever tried licking a lamppost in winter. You really should keep your mind out of the gutter, Fiona."

"Yeah, okay. You're so full of shit."

He laughs, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Only for you."

"Well don't I feel  _special_ ," she huffs, rolling her eyes. "I was being serious about not being good at this stuff though. So I don't know how this is going to work, but..."

He shrugs, unconcerned. "It'll work out how it always does with us. We go in with a plan, a bunch of unexpected crap happens, we improvise, and everything turns out fine."

"That's... very optimistic of you."

"What do want me to say? It's all going to go to shit and then we'll die?"

She makes a face at him. "Well you can't deny that as apossibility. Especially since it's _us_. We've already had to go through two emotional train wrecks just to get here."

"Okay, well, we can keep worrying about what _might_  happen, or..."

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Or?"

He doesn't say anything else, he just gets this mischievous look on his face and tugs her closer. Oh _that's_  what he has in mind. Their noses are touching and they're breathing in each other's air which might normally be gross but Fiona doesn't even care right now. She can't really make out his face at this distance; everything's just a blur of brown and gold and she wonders if Sasha ever got like this when-

" _Fuck_!" she shouts, like _actually_  shouts right in Rhys' face. He releases her immediately and she stumbles backwards until she finds the couch again. Falling into it, she buries her face into her hands.

"What's wro-"

"What the _hell_ are we going to tell Sasha?"

It's quiet for a second. And then Rhys goes, "Are you- _really_? You couldn't have waited like, five seconds?"

Well, she did say she was bad at this stuff, didn’t she? This is just the beginning of it. There's a hell of a lot more where that came from, and believe her, he'll be seeing _all_  of it. That is, if Sasha doesn't murder the both of them first. Which is a very real possibility considering Fiona kept this whole situation a secret from her for over a week. And then she ditched her without even offering an explanation when she finally found out.

Fiona jerks her head up, an idea forming in her head. A desperate and irrational idea, but an idea nonetheless. "Okay, this is going to sound really out there but bear with me... How do you feel about eloping?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile in an alternate reality, a certain Grey Warden is a bit upset that some loser stole his joke.
> 
> I'm letting this get away from me but I rewrote this entire chapter like three times so this is all I have to offer.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay so first thing's first, Rhys can  _totally_  explain how him and Sasha wound up locked in the smallest janitorial closet on this side of the universe. He can rationalize it, even. 

Basically it all boils down to a really unfortunate miscommunication. See when Fiona said she would, quote, 'take care of the Sasha thing'- after a lot of arguing back and forth about the pros and cons of eloping, mind you- Rhys incorrectly assumed that she would actually, well,  _take care of it_. They'd made really good progress working out all the weird unresolved crap between them, so the only thing left was to let Sasha in the loop since apparently she had no idea until this morning. And like yeah it gave him a bit of whiplash because just last night Fiona was asking him to never mention it again, then not even twelve hours later they were so close to making out he could see all these cute little freckles on her cheeks he'd never noticed before. 

And, uh, yeah. Anyway. He figured that when she left she would have gone to Sasha to discuss whatever needed to be discussed. Silly him, right? Expecting Fiona to do the  _logical_  thing for once instead of just siccing her sister on him while she... does whatever the hell she could possibly be doing right now. Cackling to herself in a corner somewhere, no doubt. 

"Can you get your elbow out of my ribs? It's making it really hard to focus," Sasha complains, trying to shuffle backwards enough so she can kick at the exit. She was the one that dragged them in here, but he guesses she wasn't expecting the door to lock behind them. 

"Maybe you should get your ribs off my elbow. Just a suggestion," Rhys retorts. There's not even enough room for him to turn around let alone get out of Sasha's way. Plus it's pitch black in here so he can't see a damn thing either, and he doesn't especially want to turn his palm interface on because that would just give her an easier target. 

She makes that noise in the back of her throat that she only uses when she's either disgusted or pissed off, leaning as far away from him as she can. "Oh shut  _up_. Just because it's cramped in here doesn't mean I won't still kill you, so watch it." 

What is with her and Fiona threatening him with bodily harm today? He didn't even  _do_  anything. "Wouldn't it be harder to move around with my corpse in the way? You'd have to like, prop me up against something or- or just walk on top of me which would probably squeeze all the-" 

"Will you just-" She twists herself around and digs her elbow into his gut. 

"Aha-  _o_ _w_ , what the hell?" He tries to push her away but again, this is the smallest closet ever so there's not really anywhere for her to go. A few mops topple over he thinks, but that's about it. "What was  _that_  for?" 

She does it again, but this time with more  _feeling_. "For sleeping with my sister you  _moron_." 

Rhys wheezes, blindly grabbing for Sasha's arm before she can hit him again. "You do realize that it's- that kind of thing is a...  _group_  activity, right? Are you going to elbow Fiona to death too?" 

She wiggles out of his grasp, huffing. "Of course I am. As soon as I  _find_  her. But you're the one trapped in here with me, so I guess it's just your unlucky day, huh?" 

"As soon as you find her? She- didn't she come talk to you?" 

"She walked in the door and took one look at me before running back out. I tried to go after her but she's faster than I am and that's when I ran into you." 

Huh. Well that does sound like something Fiona would do. Rhys isn't gonna lie, he can see the appeal of running away from his problems. Actually he probably  _would_  have if Sasha hadn't literally ambushed him and yanked him into a closet to murder him. Or whatever she plans on doing. 

"Okay  _look_ ," Rhys says, dragging a hand down his face. Why is he always the one stuck doing damage control for Fiona's screw ups? Okay maybe that's an exaggeration, but this one is clearly all her fault. "I'll be happy to explain everything once we get out of here, but I can only do that if you  _don't_  kill me. Okay? That sound good?" 

"Not really," Sasha replies cheerfully. He can see the outline of her shift and he moves to shield his stomach, which really sucks because this time she punches him in the face instead. 

" _Stop that_!" He catches her in his arms, restraining her so she can't move. Is his nose bleeding? He thinks his nose is bleeding. "Hitting me doesn't solve anything!" 

"Oh really? Because it kind of feels like it does!" She sounds spitting mad, thrashing about to try and break his grip. Maybe grabbing her wasn't such a good idea, but what was he supposed to do? Let her beat him into a bloody pulp? "Let go of me you asshole!" 

"I will if you stop attacking me!" he says through gritted teeth, fighting to keep a hold on her. 

She jerks her head back, smashing her skull square into the center of his face. Again with the nose, dammit. He'll be lucky if it's not broken by the end of this. "This isn't a negotiation you lying, filthy,  _sister_ _def_ _iling_ -" 

"Do I even want to know what's going on in there?" 

Sasha stops struggling for a moment. "...Athena?" 

Um, what? Athena? That's the most random person who could show up right now. Not that he isn't thankful because she might have just saved his life by turning up when she did. Or at least saved his face, which is pretty much the same thing. The door knob jiggles momentarily before there's a heavy sigh on the other side of the door. Then Athena starts beating on it until pieces are flying off and Rhys ducks behind Sasha to use her as a meat shield. He already has a bloody nose, the last thing he needs is a splinter. 

Eventually Athena makes a hole big enough for them to crawl out of, and once they're back in the hallway she looks between the two of them a few times before saying, "I admit, I'm a little curious." 

"Rhys and Fiona slept together," Sasha says with no hesitation whatsoever. He shoots her a look because honestly, she's worse than Vaughn was. Also there are  _people_  around. Not a lot, but still. There's a few, meandering about and staring at him when they recognize who he is. But does she  _have_  to talk so loud?? 

"Okay," Athena says after a second. Then she turns around and starts walking in the opposite direction. "Never mind. I don't care." 

Oh good. At least  _someone_  doesn't. "Thanks for respecting our privacy!" 

"Whatever." She abruptly stops and turns back around. "Actually I needed to talk to you two. And Fiona. That's why I'm here. It's about-" 

"We're a little busy," Sasha says, reaching up to grab Rhys by the back of his collar to make a point. 

He tries to shake her off, scowling. It's hard to look menacing when his nose is bleeding everywhere but he does his best. "Will you get  _off_? You're going to stretch it out!" 

"It won't be the only thing stretched out by the time I'm done with you-" 

" _Pffft_ , okay  _wow_  that's the stupidest and most confusing threat I've ever heard and trust me, I've heard a  _lot_  so-" 

"Will you idiots just  _shut up_?" Athena shouts which makes both of them jump. Now more people are staring. "I've been here three minutes and you're already giving me a headache." 

"Can we, uh." Rhys manages to wriggle away from Sasha, glaring at her when she tries to swipe at him again. "Can we move this somewhere a little more, I don't know, secluded? Somewhere with a first aid kit or something would be nice." 

Sasha coos sarcastically as he wipes at some of the blood accumulating on his lip. "Aw, does someone need a tissue for his little nosebleed?" 

"...Yeah kinda??" 

Athena heaves a sigh, rubbing her temples. "Just tell me where Fiona is so I don't have to listen to you two squawk at each other any longer than I have to." 

Sasha gives Rhys one last lingering look before turning to Athena with a shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine. I was looking for her before I bumped into  _this_  atrocious pile of... of..." 

"It's okay, take your time." Rhys pinches his nostrils shut to try and staunch the bleeding, at least a little. He can't remember, is he supposed to lean his head forward or back? Shit. Whatever, he tilts it forward. Better than having all that blood drain down into his throat. 

"Sorry that there's not a word that encompasses just how awful you are," Sasha says, crossing her arms. "Also you look really stupid right now. Just putting that out there." 

Rhys brings his free hand to his chest in a gesture of mock offense. "Words  _do_  hurt, you know." 

"Oh my god." Athena looks like she wants to strangle them both. Rhys wouldn't put it past her, and takes a step back just in case. "Forget it. Janey wanted to know if you were coming to the wedding but all of this made me realize that I don't even like any of you." 

That catches Sasha's attention. "Aww, no! Don't uninvite us! You can't!" 

"If this is how you're going to act then-" 

"Oh, what? This? This is just... we're just working through something," Rhys cuts in, nudging Sasha meaningfully. "We'll be civil, promise. Riiight?" 

Sasha glowers at him. Oh man, if looks could kill. Something tells him there will be a lot more punching and kicking at his expense before any of this gets resolved. "...Yeah. Right." 

Athena doesn't look entirely convinced, but after a second of watching them she throws her hands up, resigned. "Fine. Whatever. But if you bring any of this shit to our wedding then I will personally toss you out on your asses faster than you can tear each other's heads off. I really don't care that Rhys slept with- with-" 

"Fiona," Sasha helpfully supplies. 

"Right." Athena looks at him funny for a moment. "Is that really true?" 

Rhys blinks. What kind of question is that? "Uh. Yeah?" 

"It's a little hard to believe. She's just... out of your league. By a lot." 

Sasha snorts and slaps a hand over her mouth, trying (and failing) to muffle her giggles. Wow. Okay, now he's actually offended. "Didn't you  _just_  say that you don't care? What happened to that?" 

"Sorry," Athena says without sounding sorry at all. "It's just surprising is all." 

Sasha manages to choke back her laughter long enough to say, "I think she was drunk." 

"Ah." Athena nods to herself, apparently satisfied with that explanation. "That makes more sense." 

What? No it doesn't! And also why are they talking about him like he's not standing  _right here_?? "Oh for- okay. I'm done with this conversation. You two can humiliate me aaall you like because I am  _leaving_. And for the record, we were  _both_  drunk. So there." 

"Wait," Sasha grabs him by the wrist before he can get very far. He wishes he could just keep walking but she has a total death grip on him and unless he wants to lose the arm, he's not going anywhere. "You were drunk too?" 

Rhys rolls his eyes. "Um, yeah, I just said that. Should I talk slower next time?" 

"So... it wasn't like you just took advantage of my inebriated sister? You were both just genuinely wasted enough to think sleeping together was a good idea?" 

Wait, is that really what she thought he did? "...Yes?" 

"Oh." 

_Oh_  like she didn't almost maim him for no reason. Like he kind of gets it in the vaguest way possible; he'd probably be pretty pissed if he thought some asshole took advantage of his intoxicated sibling too. If he had one. But would he have dragged them into a closet to execute them for it? Well, maybe. But still, all of this shit could have been avoided if Sasha had just listened to him in the first place. Or you know, if Fiona had actually done what she said she would do instead of running off. Again. 

"Can I go now?" Rhys jerks his arm around in Sasha's grip pointedly. "I have stuff to do. Nosebleeds to fix. Psychological trauma to process." 

Sasha releases him, and if he's not mistaken she even looks a little  _sheepish_. "If you see Fiona tell her I still want to talk to her later. And... and say I'm not mad. I mean, I kind of still am because really why didn't she just  _say_  something but yeah just tell her I'm not-" 

"Yeah, yeah, I got it." Rhys turns back towards the way he originally came from before the whole closet incident. There's actually a small crowd gathered now, probably having watched that whole spectacle. They disperse when he sees them though, but there's a bunch of whispering amongst them and he doesn't really get the warm fuzzies about that. Hopefully Fiona won't mind if a bunch of the refugees entertain themselves with gossip about their sex lives; he's had enough of being knocked around for today. 

"By the way," Athena suddenly pipes up from behind him, and he glances over his shoulder to look at her. "Tell Vaughn he's welcome to come to the wedding if he wants. And August too, I guess. He's been hanging around here lately, right?" 

Even  _after_  physically and/or verbally harassing him, they both asked him for a favor. Just. Wow. "Oh sure, I'll be  _happy_  to tell them! Since you two have been such great friends to me and all." 

Sasha looks just a fraction guiltier but Athena doesn't seem like she cares one bit, which Rhys kind of expected anyway. Her and Sasha start walking in the opposite direction, probably to go catch up or whatever, and Rhys begins to make his way back to his apartment because that's the closest place with a first aid kit that he can think of. And by first aid kit he really means he has a few bandages and alcohol wipes stuffed in the back of a cupboard in the bathroom. But hopefully there's some gauze in there too, otherwise he's going to have to improvise. Maybe he could just use the shirt he's wearing? It's already stained with blood now anyway. Man, he really liked this shirt too. Vaughn said it made his eyes pop. 

Once he gets back to his place, he finds the door unlocked. Which is weird. Usually he locks it when he leaves. There's not really anything valuable inside anyway, but still. He shrugs it off at first because he probably just forgot to do it. But as soon as he walks in he notices someone rooting around in his kitchen and he nearly has a heart attack before he sees who it is. 

" _Why_?" he asks, just standing there stupidly holding his nose with one hand and gesturing wildly with the other. "Why are you here?" 

Fiona spins around, half a granola bar hanging out of her mouth. "Um. Welcome home, honey?" 

Oh that's cute. Rhys rolls his eyes and closes the front door behind him, heading towards his bedroom. He doesn't even want to try to talk to her before doing something about his nose. Fiona follows him, hesitating at the threshold of his room but apparently getting over it to come lean against the doorway to his bathroom. "What are you doing?" 

She says that casually, so she must not have seen all the blood and gore when he walked in. Too busy eating his food, most likely. He flicks the bathroom light on and levels her with the flattest look he can muster while still pinching his nostrils shut. It probably doesn't come off nearly as bitter as he wanted it to if the soft twist of her mouth is anything to go by. 

"Whoa." She moves into the bathroom to set her snack down on the counter, reaching up to gently touch his nose. "What the hell happened to your face?" 

"That's-  _ow_ \- that's a bit harsh, don't you think?" he says as she continues to poke at him. She tenderly moves his hand to get a better look and then immediately shoves it right back where it was. Must still be bleeding then. Fantastic. 

"You didn't go smacking into any walls running out of a one night stand's apartment, did you?" She looks vaguely amused as she moves around him to start digging around in the cupboard behind the mirror. "You have any gauze? Or tissues or something?" 

Rhys sighs, sitting down on the lid of the toilet. He's trying to be mad at her, he's  _supposed_  to be mad at her. She's literally the reason Sasha almost elbowed his face in. If she had just  _talked_  to her... "If there's not any in there then no. Also, I thought we were past one night stand status? We're on speaking terms now, at least. What would you call that?" 

"Hmm," she muses, shutting the cabinet and looking around for a moment before grabbing the roll of toilet paper off the handle. Oh yeah. That was right there the whole time. Why didn't he think of that? "Friends that got wasted and had sex and are now talking to each other again even though it was horribly awkward there for a minute?" 

He raises an eyebrow. "That's what you're going with? It's... a little excessive. Accurate, but lengthy." 

She moves between his knees and tilts his chin up, fighting a smile. "You're right. We'll have to work on it then." 

Taking his hand away from his nose again, she uses her other one to start dabbing at his nostrils. He's intensely aware that she doesn't release his fingers as she works, and he wonders if she's doing it on purpose. Some kind of distraction tactic to prevent him from remembering to stay pissed at her. Not that she even knows he  _should_  be pissed at her yet. So it's probably just by sheer accident, or maybe she doesn't even notice she's doing it which makes it even more impressive. Oh, she's good. He never even had a chance. 

"What's with that look?" she says, swapping out a wad of soiled toilet paper for a fresh one. 

"What look?" he replies, abruptly trying to force his face into a more neutral expression. "I don't have a look." 

She shakes her head at him. "Oh, you had a look. It was all...  _swoony_." 

"I-  _swoony_? I don't swoon." 

"You," she says with a half smile, "are a terrible liar." 

And then she looks up at him and it's another one of those moments just like earlier where everything in him is screaming  _kiss her_  and goddamn does he want to. Like, so  _so_  bad. But the fact that his nose is  _still_  bleeding is kind of in the way of that, plus there's probably blood smeared all over his lips and yeah it would be really gross. So he's not going to. But he's definitely going to think about it. 

This is the second time today Sasha has somehow prevented him from kissing Fiona. And just like before, she didn't even have to actually be  _in_  the room. That... that's just true talent right there. There's nothing else he can say about it. 

Eventually Fiona manages to get the bleeding to stop, which is a huge relief. It still hurts like hell and it'll probably bruise pretty bad but he doesn't think it's broken at the very least. She grabs a rag from the counter and wets it down under the tap, turning to him expectantly. When he realizes what she intends on doing his heart does this little flip-flop in his chest. Why was he supposed to be mad at her again? He honestly can't remember. It probably wasn't that important anyway. 

She gently takes the damp cloth to his face, wiping at all the dried blood under his nose and on his mouth. She takes extra care not to press down too hard and hurt him more, which, really, is kind of inevitable but the pain is minimal and it's worth it to have her keep touching him. And that sounds weird. Forget he said that. Or, thought it. Whatever. 

Once she's done she sets the rag to the side and then just cups his face in her hands, brushing some of his hair back behind his ears. She's so pretty from this angle- wait what is he saying she's pretty from  _every_  angle. But from this one in particular he can see all those tiny freckles again, so faint they're almost not even there. He's starting to adore those freckles; he wants to trace his fingers over them, find out where they lead and if she has them anywhere else. 

"You wanna tell me what happened now?" she says, pulling him from his dreamlike state. What? Shit. Maybe she was right, is he swooning right now? He totally is. 

"Well," he starts and tries really hard not to be distracted by her fingers in his hair. Much easier said than done. "Not really. What we're doing now is... it's pretty nice. I don't want to ruin it." 

She makes a noise that he thinks means she agrees with him. "The only thing that would make it better is if we weren't in a bathroom right now." 

"Shit, yeah." He slides his hands up her arms to catch her fingers in his, standing up. "We can, uh. Move?" 

"Okay," is all she says, but doesn't make any suggestions as to where they should move  _to_. His bed is just... no. Not really an option, that would be too awkward. Neither one of them are ready for that he thinks, because acknowledging something happened and  _acknowledging_  something happened are two entirely different things. That doesn't even make sense but whatever, point is, bed is a no-go. 

So he pulls her back into the main room of his apartment and they both sit on the couch, which is normally pretty uncomfortable and lumpy but he finds he doesn't mind it as much when he's sitting next to her. He's still holding her hands and he doesn't really want to let go but her face is  _right there_  so he guesses some sacrifices just have to be made. He sweeps her bangs out of her face with his right hand, resting his left against her neck. And it's another  _perfect_  moment, like destiny or whatever just keeps throwing these at them left and right, but then it suddenly occurs to him that she never even told him what she was still doing here. Like really, what's up with that? His curiosity can't wait. He'll kiss her after, he swears. 

"So," he says without moving, because sure he wants some answers but pulling away is just too troublesome. Yeah, they can have this conversation right here, like this. He won't get  _distracted_  or anything, nope not at all. "What exactly were you doing when I got back? I thought I locked the door." 

She giggles- like honest to god  _giggles_  and it's so cute he- wait no.  _Focus_. "You didn't. Maybe you were too preoccupied by something else to remember?" 

"Well can you  _blame_  me?" He runs a thumb along her jawline which makes her twitch in the most oddly satisfying way. "So I left the door unlocked. That still doesn't explain why you were  _here_  and not, oh I don't know, talking to Sasha maybe? Like you said you would?" 

She purses her lips, shrugging heavily after a few seconds. "I... got scared." 

"Of your own sister?" Well it's not like it's hard to believe. Sasha can be pretty scary. His poor nose is a testament to that. 

"I... I mean I guess? She just looked so... hurt. And mad at the same time. I couldn't think of what to say or where to even  _begin_  so I just..." 

"Ran." 

She sighs, leaning into his hand. "And came back because I figured she'd never try to look for me here. It's pathetic, I know." 

"It's not pathetic," he tells her, really meaning it. "Questionable, maybe. A little on the problematic side. But not pathetic." 

She sticks her tongue out at him which is actually  _so_  adorable he could die. "How is it that you always know  _exactly_  what to say to make me feel worse?" 

"Aw, come on. You know you don't mean that." 

"Do I? I'm not sure I do." 

"Come ooon." He moves a hand down to her knees and pulls her closer so her legs are laying on top of his. Because he is the absolute  _master_  of subtlety. 

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she rolls her eyes as dramatically as humanly possible. "Well, it wouldn't be  _us_  if we didn't give each other shit, right? So I guess it's okay. Just this once." 

"I can live with that," he murmurs, and they're so close he can count all her individual eyelashes and  _yes_  okay he's going to kiss her now like he's been dying to all morning.  _Finally_. 

"Wait a second!" she suddenly says, pushing him back and he's so flabbergasted all he can do is stare at her. "Did Sasha do that to your face?" 

Shit! Dammit! Not again!  _Every_  fucking time! "Fiona.  _Please_. Stop bringing up Sasha when I'm about to kiss you. This is the third time and I think I'm actually going to lose it if you don't cut it out." 

She does a double take. " _Third_  time? I'm pretty sure I've only done it twice, thank you very much. Learn to count, jackass." 

He leans his head back, groaning. She's  _so_  missing the point. "I was considering it in the bathroom but I didn't think you wanted to suck face when my nose was bleeding everywhere. And the only reason it was  _doing_  that was because of Sasha. So yeah, it's been three times." 

"Well that's not  _my_  fault," she huffs, but then she seems to think about it for a second. "Oh shit wait." 

He sits back up and cups her cheeks gently, leaning in because damn it all to hell he's going to do this, right now, now or never- 

"Oh crap! So she  _did_  mess up your face. What the hell? Okay, she and I will be having  _words_  the next time I see her, just you wait-" 

Rhys flops back on the couch with a sigh to rival all other sighs. Like it's so long and deep that Fiona stops talking and just stares at him wordlessly for a moment before saying in a slightly ashamed voice, "I did it again. I'm so sorry." 

And before he can even say anything to that she's clambering on top of him which is a little awkward considering how skinny the couch is but somehow she makes it work. She's straddling him which is, uh, well a bit of a surprise but okay then. Not necessarily the worst turn this could have taken. 

"Kiss me," she says in the most deadpan voice that he almost thinks she's joking just to mess with him. But she's definitely not, if the determined look on her face is anything to go by. 

"What, like, right now?" 

She pokes him in the chest, frowning. "Yes right now! I won't say another word, I swear. Just do it." 

He doesn't really know what to do with his hands so he just rests them on her thighs. "Why don't you do it? You're the one on top." 

"Because I'll mess it up! Or something!" 

He snorts. "You can't  _mess_   _it up_. Unless you mention Sasha again." 

" _Listen_ ," she says, poking him harder. He catches her hand and winds his fingers through hers, which seems to distract her for a moment. "I'm trying to do a thing here." 

"A thing?" 

"Shut up! Kiss me!" 

He sighs. Oh, fine. Maybe this time they'll actually be able to seal the deal or whatever since she's promising not to say anything. Maybe. Just maybe. "Well just- lean down or something. Or let me sit up." 

She scoots backwards so she's sitting on his thighs and he pushes himself upright, turning them so he can put his feet on the floor. He lets her get comfortable and it suddenly registers that she's in his  _lap_  of all places which is,  _ha_ , a bit unexpected. Or a lot unexpected. But now is  _not_  the time to let that get to him. That would be a... rather unfortunate circumstance. For both parties. Mostly him. 

So once she gets all situated, he just focuses on her. Not on the fact that she's  _sitting on him_  but on other things. Like how her eyes are so beautiful this close, how he can see all the flecks of different colors in them but they're still so shockingly green. And that cute little dimple in her forehead she only gets when she's either scowling too much or concentrating  _really_  hard on something. He runs a finger over the slope of her brow and down her nose and her cheeks turn the most wonderful shade of red. 

"You are..." He's so breathless just from looking at her that it's actually kind of embarrassing. "You are really something." 

She laughs but it sounds all tight like she's nervous and trying to make light of it. "You're not so bad yourself." 

And he's thinking,  _yes_  this is it. Screw all those other chances he had, none of them were as perfect as this. It's like nothing even exists outside of their little bubble, they have their own world for a moment and it's just the two of them and they can  _finally_ - 

The front door slams open and they both jump, their foreheads knocking painfully together. "Oh man, you will  _never_  believe what I just- oh." 

Rhys twists around to look over the back of the couch and there stands Vaughn, frozen just inside the doorway and appearing vaguely scandalized. "I can... come back later? Yeah I'll just... do that..." 

He slooowly backs out the way he came in and pulls the door shut behind him. 

"You know what?" Rhys says, turning back to Fiona. 

She looks about as horrified as he is by what just happened. "...What?" 

"I don't think eloping sounds like such a bad idea after all." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am... SO sorry.......
> 
> One day they'll kiss I swear.


	5. Chapter 5

Fiona has a problem. She really, really does. Snooping through Rhys' apartment is definitely something she should  _not_  be doing right now\- or ever really, because who even  _does_  that- and yet here she is. Rooting through all the drawers in his desk indiscriminately like it never occurred to her to be courteous of someone else's belongings. 

And don't get her wrong, the sensible part of her brain is screaming bloody murder for her to stop, but her impulse control is just... strangely absent. Like it up and packed its bags and left on an extended vacation without even leaving a note to say when it would be back. Though that might have something to do with drinking half a bottle of whatever the hell it was that she found in Rhys' kitchen earlier. Some imported stuff she thinks because it definitely didn't taste like it was Pandoran. 

So her judgement might not be the best since she's a bit on the tipsy side. Not drunk though, not even anywhere close. She's only fallen flat on her face twice in the past half hour, which she's pretty sure is a new record. Also if she squints  _really_  hard, everything stops being blurry for about three and a half seconds. That's a good thing, right? 

...Okay so maybe she's a little drunk. 

But it's not her fault, really! She's just a victim of circumstance. If Rhys hadn't invited her here with a bunch of flowery promises like,  _I've been wanting to show you the facility for a while_  and  _it'll be fun I promise_  and also  _oh yes Fiona we'll be able to make out without anyone barging in and making it incredibly awkward_... Well, he didn't actually say that last one but it was  _implied_. 

Anyway, if he hadn't badgered her into coming and then promptly ditched her she wouldn't be in this mess, so there. Her logic is ass-backwards and she knows it, but it does make a little sense. If she shuts one eye and tilts her head sideways. And maybe looks at it upside down. Yeah, there it is. Totally legitimate reasoning. 

Fiona pulls out another stack of files and drops them on top of the desk. It's not like she's looking for anything in particular, it's just her curiosity has been gnawing at her ever since they'd opened the vault. She knew the basics; he acquired the rights to Atlas by sheer luck and now he's hugely successful. Or something. He's rich at least, that's for damn sure. The whole facility is impressive- or what she saw of it on the way in here anyhow- but his apartment is something else entirely. 

Even describing it as an  _apartment_  is a bit of a stretch. It's stupidly big, way bigger than any one person would ever need, but she guesses that's how things are when you're at the top. All your stuff is bigger and better than everyone else's to really drive that hierarchy thing home. And Fiona doesn't want to admit that she's jealous because she  _isn't_ , no way, not in a million years. Well okay, maybe a little, but she thinks that's kind of reasonable since she's pretty sure just the chair she's sitting in right now is worth more than everything she owns. Like, he's so rich he can drop an obscene amount of money on something that serves no other purpose than to collect back and ass sweat. 

To be perfectly honest though, she could probably buy herself a disgustingly expensive chair if she really wanted to. Her and Sasha have barely touched any of the money that Felix left them because the plan was to let all the hoopla from opening the vault die down first before deciding what to do. But anyway, it's not about the freaking chair. It's about what the chair  _represents_. Which is... cooperate greed. Or something. Whatever. There's a metaphor in there somewhere, she's sure of it. 

Fiona makes herself more comfortable, leaning back with a few folders in her hands and propping her bare feet up on the desk. She flips through all the paperwork at random, skimming over reports of Atlas finances and transactions. Which, she belatedly realizes, are probably confidential and doing this could get her in a lot of trouble. But even if Rhys were to waltz in right now and catch her channeling her inner Nancy Drew, what would happen? He'd have her arrested? He wouldn't do that. 

Probably. 

It's not like she has anything to gain from seeing all this anyway because first of all, she can't even make sense of most of it. She doesn't know how Rhys does it, but then again she doesn't get his whole wacky hacky thing either. Math and numbers and all that crap aren't really her  _forte_ , she's better at other things. Namely things involving her mouth. Er, not like that. She just meant... you know what, forget it. 

With a deep sigh, she tosses the files back onto the desk. This is so  _boring_. It was fun at first, being all nosy and disrespectful of Rhys' private property, but she was expecting to find something more... exciting?? Maybe some embarrassing secrets? But nope, all she found was these manila folders of despair and a few sticky notes with random stuff scrawled on them. Like  _stockpile_ _pb_ _in case of another crunchy crisis_  and  _spending too much on hair gel??_  which is crossed out multiple times. Somewhat amusing, but not really worth all the digging she went through to find them. 

She starts shoving everything back where she found it, trying to remember what goes where. Just as she fits the last stack of files back into the drawer, a little slip of paper falls out onto the floor. She picks it up and flips it over, blinking a few times to focus on the little symbols drawn on it. 

Aww, are those hearts? She squints to make extra sure she's seeing this right and yep, those are hearts alright. They fill the whole paper, all different sizes and colors. Fiona doesn't want to sound self-centered but Rhys totally drew these while he was thinking about her. Unless he has another lover she doesn't know about. Or someone else gave this to him and he kept it for whatever reason. 

Okay no, her first guess was a much less agonizing thought so she's going with that one. She folds the piece of paper up into a neat little square and slips it into her back pocket. He probably won't notice it's gone, and if he does she doubts he would think to ask her about it, so her secret is safe with, well, nobody. Which is just the way she likes it. 

Fiona pushes herself up from the chair and stretches, nearly losing her balance but managing to catch herself on the desk just in time.  _Ha_ , not this time inferior drunken reflexes! After making sure she's steady on her feet, she makes her way out of his cushy office into the rest of his even cushier residence. While the whole place certainly gives off an aura of opulence, it still reminds her of his bizarrely empty apartment back on Helios. Obviously this place is furnished more thoroughly with things of a significantly higher net value, various artworks and displays in almost every room, but it still feels so... vacant. Like no one really lives here. 

That probably doesn't mean much coming from her, since her definition of something looking lived-in takes into consideration the amount of junk littered all over the place. Clearly Rhys is just a much neater person than she is. 

She wanders- er, stumbles towards his bedroom because she feels  _very_  tired all of a sudden. Apparently being a bad houseguest can be pretty exhausting. She knows exactly where to go, already having given herself a tour since Rhys didn't get the chance to before taking off to who knows where. An emergency meeting she thinks he said. She wasn't really listening at the time, too busy gaping at the extravagance of his digs to pay much attention. The initial awe wore off after a while and then curiosity took over. That's when she found the booze in his kitchen and, well, the rest is history. 

It's rather dark in Rhys' room, but she doesn't feel like turning on a light so she just carefully edges her way towards where she thinks his bed his. Her shins hit the frame and she falls face first onto the mattress, which she might be more upset about if it wasn't so  _comfortable_. It's so soft, like it's filled with feathers. Or clouds. Or feathers  _and_  clouds. She wiggles all the way onto the bed, and it's so big she can lay across it lengthways without her head or her feet hanging off. Rolling onto her side, she grabs for one of his pillows and pulls it against her chest. Then she buries her face in it and inhales deeply because it smells like him and it's such a  _good_  smell. It's like... cinnamon. Or maybe sandalwood? Actually no, those things smell nothing alike. Whatever, it doesn't matter. Rhys smells like Rhys and if she can't drunkenly cuddle with him then she'll just have to make do with this pillow. And she'll tell him all about it later and make him sooo jealous. 

Yeah. That'll show him. 

Fiona yawns and hugs the pillow closer, drifting off while plotting her sweet, sweet revenge. 

 

-

 

Waking up is a lot more unpleasant than falling asleep it seems. Well, if she thinks about it, it's almost always like that. But it's  _especially_  so this time, partially because she has a bit of a headache from her daytime drinking but mostly because she drooled all over the pillow she'd shoved her face in. And now the pillowcase is sticking to her cheeks and she thinks there might be spit in her hair and it's just... it's gross. 

She pushes the pillow away, wondering why the hell she'd been holding it so close to begin with. Oh yeah, because it smelled like Rhys. God that was stupid. He doesn't even smell  _that_  good. 

...Well. 

Fiona shakes her head, struggling to sit up on her elbows. Whatever, no one has to know she has a weird thing for Rhys' scent. Not even  _Rhys_  has to know, because he'd probably get that dumb smile on his face that makes her feel like she's going to explode into a bunch of butterflies and throw up at the same time. His  _swoony_  smile. 

Eventually, she scoots off the bed and drifts into bathroom, flicking the light on so she can make herself somewhat presentable. The room is huge, just like everything else in this place, with long white counters and the biggest shower she's ever seen. Like honestly, three people could probably fit in there. She admires it for a moment before turning to consider herself in the mirror. Her lipstick is smeared to all hell so she just wipes the rest of it off before running her fingers through her hair a few times to smooth out most of the tangles. There, now she only looks moderately repulsive. She splashes her face with water a few times for good measure before backing out of the room. 

Once she's in the hallway, she stifles a yawn against her hand. It's dark now, so she must have slept for quite a while. She didn't hear Rhys come back; he can't  _still_  be at that meeting thing or whatever, can he? 

The light in the office is on, so she takes that as a no. She peeks around the corner and there he is, planted in that ugly ass chair and tapping away at his keyboard. He doesn't notice her at first, too preoccupied with whatever he's doing, so she just watches him. Every once in a while he'll make this funny face at his monitor, or shake his head at it and mumble something under his breath, and Fiona hates to admit it but it's  _really_  cute. Just Rhys being himself in his natural environment. It's absurd how she loves every tiny, stupid thing about him. 

Um. Not  _loves_ , really, she doesn't  _love_  him- uh. Shit. She means she doesn't love anything about him but she doesn't love  _him_  either because- just- no. Absolutely not, there is  _no way_ - 

"You're awake," he says, apparently having noticed her standing in the doorway like a moron while her brain is short circuiting. He's standing up and moving around the desk towards her while she works on shutting down her previous train of thought. She does  _not_  want to have that conversation with herself right now. Or ever, probably. Burying her emotions so deep that she's not even fully aware of them sounds like a  _much_  better plan. 

"Y-Yeah," she manages, shaking her head to clear it. Which doesn't actually work, but she tries. "I was, um. I was tired." 

Rhys just raises an eyebrow at her, a knowing look on his face. "That wouldn't have anything to do with the half-empty bottle of wine I found on the counter, would it?" 

"Well..." 

He has this mischievous glint in his eyes, stopping right in front of her with his arms crossed. "What else did you get into while I was gone?" 

"What makes you think," Fiona starts, faltering when she notices how tall he is for about the gazillionth time. And also how close he's standing. "...What makes you think I got into anything? I'm capable of minding my own business." 

"Sure, sure, I know you are. But when have you ever  _actually_  done that?" 

She plants her hands on her hips, scowling up at him. "Plenty of times." 

"Name one." 

Fiona opens her mouth but nothing comes out. Rhys just stands there looking very pleased with himself. 

"Told you." He steps a little closer, winding his arms around her waist and pulling her against him. "I  _know_  you, Fi." 

"What a load of shit," she mumbles, indignant but unable to stop herself from practically melting into him like the apparently enamored idiot she is. On one hand she  _really_  wants to win this argument, but on the other, Rhys is all soft and warm and way better for hugging than his pillow was. And she needs to stop mentally acknowledging all these things she lo-  _likes_ about him. Right now. Before something disastrous happens. 

"I can prove it." Bringing his flesh hand up, Rhys starts working his fingers through her hair, catching all the knots she missed. He's being so gentle, patiently working through them and- no wait.  _Stop it_.  "Like... I know your favorite color is red." 

Somehow, she still has it in her to roll her eyes and say, "Oh, I bet  _that_  was hard to figure out." 

"And," he continues, ignoring her. "And I know you cheat every time we play poker." 

"I do  _not_." 

He leans back a little bit so he can slide his hand over her mouth. To keep her from interrupting any more, she assumes. "And I also know that you're one of the nosiest people I've ever met. Don't give me that look, I happen to  _like_  that about you." 

"You're an ass," she says, or tries to say. It's all muffled because his hand is in the way but she thinks he gets the gist of it. She licks his palm to get him to move but he doesn't budge an inch, in fact she's pretty sure his smile just got wider. Okay then. That's not weird at all. 

"One more thing." He doesn't even say anything about her slobbering all over him. Like, she's still doing it, right now, and he just keeps talking like this is completely normal. "I know you well enough to know that you took something of mine." 

What the hell is he even talking about? She stops licking him for the moment, tongue retreating back into her mouth. "And how ca-" She pauses to slap his hand away so she can actually speak coherently. "And how can you be so sure of that?" 

"I just am," he says all mysteriously as he wipes his palm on the sleeve of her shirt. Oh that's mature. They just look at each other for a moment with her doing her best to convey how unimpressed she is through facial expression alone and him giving her that infuriatingly cute crooked smile of his. 

And then he reaches around and grabs her ass. 

She almost decks him right there because come  _on_ , they still haven't even managed a little peck yet and he's already trying to skip to second base?? But then she realizes he's not  _actually_  copping a feel back there, he's just digging around in her pants pocket. Which, after a moment of deliberation, she decides is not much better. What the hell is he even looking for? This is totally an invasion of her personal space. 

"I think I need an adult," she huffs, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. Which she could easily do if she really wanted to, but she is a little curious as to why he's suddenly conducting a body search on her. So she doesn't try  _too_  hard. For reasons. "You could have at least gotten me dinner first. And also, I don't think you're supposed to get handsy on the first date. Not classy, Rhys." 

He apparently doesn't find what he's looking for in the first pocket so he switches to the other one and immediately pulls something from it. Which is weird because she doesn't remember putting anything back there. "A- _ha_!" 

"Umm." She squints at the piece of paper he's waving in her face. Where did that come from? Are those hearts? "I have never seen that before in my life." 

"You  _liar_ ," he says like he's trying to pretend he's mad about it but is having too much fun to make a convincing effort. "Do you really expect me to believe that? It was in your pocket." 

Okay, that's a fair point. But she really  _is_  telling the truth. She doesn't remember ever seeing that slip of paper before, or sticking it in her pocket. Unless... Did she do it earlier? Before she zonked out in his bed? Let's see, after he left for his dumb meeting thing she poked around a little bit until she found the bottle of whatever in his kitchen. Then things start getting fuzzy. She remembers... being in here. And sitting at his desk. But what was she  _doing_? 

She can make a guess. She doesn't really like that guess. 

Biting her lip, she tilts her head to the side. "...I'm being framed?" 

"There are cameras," Rhys helpfully informs her. "Pretty much all over the place. I watched you take it. And go through all the files in my desk, incidentally." 

"Oh," she says stupidly. "Damn." 

He looks at her funny for a second and then abruptly starts laughing. And it's one of his loud, dorky laughs too, the kind that's so contagious she can't help but laugh along with him. But like, nervously, because she doesn't know if he's actually upset at her or not. 

"You- you're just-" He shakes his head, laughing too hard to spit out whatever it is that he wants to say. Eventually he just gives up and releases her, walking back towards his desk. 

She trails after him because really, she's just  _what_? He left her hanging there but she wants to  _know_. "Is it really that funny or are you just doing that thing where you lull me into a false sense of security and then take me by surprise later by chewing me out when I least expect it?" 

He tosses the square of paper on his desk and then turns around to lean back against the edge. It takes him a few seconds but he manages to choke back his laughter for the most part, and he's making this weird face from the effort of it. Like he's about to throw up a bunch of frogs or something. "Now why would I ever do that?" 

"I can think of three good reasons. No wait- four." 

Rhys just considers her for a moment before opening his arms and gesturing for her to come closer. "Come here." 

Well how can she say no to that? Even if this is all just part of his master plan. As soon as she's within his reach he has his arms around her again, pulling her so they're flush up against each other. Then he's bringing his left hand up to cup her cheek and  _dammit_  every time he touches her face it feels like she's suddenly standing inside a furnace. But, you know, in a good way. 

"You wanna know something?" he says, running his thumb over her bottom lip. Which makes that furnace feeling get about ten times worse. "You do this thing when you're trying to concentrate. You like- you scrunch up your nose a little bit and get this cute little crease in your forehead." 

"Oh shut  _up_. I do not." 

"You do!" He's giggling again, but it's softer than before. "You do it when you're embarrassed too, like right now." 

Even her  _ears_  are starting to feel hot. "I- you- I'm not  _embarrassed_." 

"Really? Because your face is all red." 

"Maybe I'm flustered because I just found out  _someone_  was spying on me all afternoon." She pokes him in the side, which makes him flinch. One of these days she's going to have to find out just how ticklish he is. 

Rhys rolls his eyes, pinching her cheek a little bit. "It's  _my_  office. I have a right to know what goes on in it." 

"Yeah but I could have been  _naked_. Or something. That would have made you a peeping tom." 

He blinks a few times. "Why would you be naked in my office?" 

"I don't know! I was drunk, anything could have happened." She pokes him again but this time he catches her wrist, effectively ruining her fun. "But you're completely missing the point here. Stop thinking about me naked." 

"What- you- why do you- I'm  _not_ ," he says in the least convincing way possible. 

"Really?" she mimics him from earlier. "Because your face is all red." 

He groans. "O- _kay_  first of all, I don't sound like that. Second of all-" 

She uses her free hand to prod him in the ribs since he's still holding onto her other one. He jumps and makes this funny sound, which is exactly what she was going for. But then he snatches up both of her wrists in one hand and spins them around so he has her pinned up against the side of the desk. 

Well. This is unexpected. 

Rhys looks only a little less surprised than she is, but also a hell of a lot more smug. It's a weird combination, but he always makes strange faces so she guesses it's not that unusual. Making a thoughtful sound, she flexes her hands around in his grip. "Is this what we're doing now? I hadn't pegged you for a bondage person." 

"Fiona," he says with this hint of... something in his voice. "Please stop talking." 

"But teasing you is so much  _fun_ ," she whines. 

Sighing heavily, he lets go of her hands and opts to hold her by her hips instead. "No, you're right. That's clearly the best use of our time right now. Being here, together, all alone..." 

She narrows her eyes at him. "You're trying to distract me. You're trying to  _seduce_  me." 

"That depends." He cocks his head slightly to the side. "Is it working?" 

What a stupid question. Of course it is. "Not at all." 

"Oh," he pouts. Then he perks right back up and goes, "Well, maybe if I just-" 

He bends down and scoops her up into his arms to lift her up onto the desk. Okay wow, this is  _really_  unexpected but she's actually completely okay with it. In fact she's waaay more than okay with it, she is very, very,  _extremely_  okay with it. Like, she could not possibly be more okay with it if she tried. 

Rhys moves between her legs, letting both his hands rest on her thighs. "What about now?" 

"Hmm," she muses, scooting forward enough so she can wrap her arms around his neck. "I think I might need a little more convincing." 

He doesn't say anything, he just huffs out a little laugh and smiles all tenderly at her. And alright, if she  _had_  to confess she loved one thing about him- which she doesn't, so she's not, but if she  _did_ - it would be that look he's giving her right now. He's looked at her like this before but it was different, more... muted, she thinks. But she remembers it, even if she hadn't realized at the time what it meant. 

Now she knows. He's looking at her like- like she's something rare and valuable and precious. Which she never expected, not from him. Because she's spent all this time thinking about how different they are that she's forgotten what they have in common. And it's a lot actually, more than you would think, but the biggest thing they have in common is that they both had a choice. There was a chance to move on, to try and forget that they had ever even crossed paths and live out their lives as normally as possible for people like them. 

But neither one of them took that chance. They had a choice, and they chose each other. 

So basically what she's trying to say is she just got a bajillion percent more okay with what is happening right now because of what that mushy look on his face implies. Which is, uh, he's had a crush on her way longer than she initially thought. And that realization makes that fuzzy and slightly nauseating feeling swell up in her chest like a balloon. 

"I hope you're going to kiss me soon," she tells him, like she can't lean forward and do it herself. But she's determined to make  _him_  do it, dammit. Even if something seems to go wrong every time he tries. 

"I mean, I was planning on it." He moves his left hand from her leg to the side of her neck. "You spaced out on me for a second there though so I didn't think that was a good opportunity." 

"Well, right now is a  _great_  opportunity. Just letting you know." 

"Subtle," he notes. "You're good at this." 

"I try." 

He brings his other hand up to brush some of her hair back behind her ear. Then he just looks at her for a second- he seems to do a lot of that, she wonders what exactly is so interesting to him about her face- but then he starts leaning in. And her heart is thudding in her ears because even though they've come  _this close_  a handful of times already, she's still nervous as all hell. Which is dumb. It's not even a complicated thing. It's just kissing. 

Kissing  _Rhys_. 

God. Shut up, brain! She's trying to focus here. But not too hard because then she'd wind up having an anxiety attack, and that wouldn't be sexy at all. 

Just as his nose bumps against hers and she's thinking, yes,  _finally_ , nothing could possibly ruin this moment right now... 

The intercom on Rhys' desk crackles to life. " _Sorry for bothering you so late, sir, I just saw you were still logged in and wanted to ask if-_ " 

Before Fiona even has a chance to feel the soul crushing disappointment, Rhys yanks the device by its cord and sends it crashing into the wall. 

She considers the destroyed intercom for a second, amazed at how many pieces it broke into, before turning back to him. "Well, that was a little excessive don't you thi-" 

His mouth is on her own before she gets to finish that thought, which is probably for the best. The last thing they need is her killing the mood with her huge mouth. Again. So she just shuts her eyes and kisses him back. 

It's a little weird at first because they're like two puzzle pieces trying to figure out exactly how they're supposed to fit together. He's all soft lips and warm hands- or actually, just one warm hand, the other one is significantly cooler- and she's unyielding against him. But slowly she thaws, all her uncertainty burning away. When he sinks his teeth gently into her bottom lip she sighs, and when she tugs him down by his collar because she wants him closer,  _closer_ , he huffs but gives in. His fingers are in her hair, on her face, digging into her thighs like he can't decide where he wants to put them so he tries to put them everywhere. And when she locks her ankles behind his legs, trapping him against her, he pulls her even closer. As if to say,  _do you really think I'm going anywhere_ _? I'm right where I want to be_. 

She moves when he moves, breathes when he breathes, and they gradually become more like one being than two. 

He pulls away first, catching her hands as they slide off his shoulders and bringing her knuckles to his lips. "That was...  _wow_." 

Leave it to Rhys to sum things up in the least eloquent way possible. But he isn't wrong, so she hums her agreement. "We should do that again." 

"What, right now?" He raises his eyebrows at her. "We just stopped." 

"And I'm still not entirely sure why, if I'm being honest. Are you?" 

He considers her for a moment, and then says, "You make an excellent point." 

So they do it again. And again and again until they're both giggling too much to keep kissing but neither one of them wants to stop. Eventually they take a break long enough to move to his room because sitting on that desk was starting to make Fiona's ass hurt and Rhys was getting tired of standing, but after they're all comfortable in his bed they kiss some more. And they talk, about his day and about how Fiona doesn't need to snoop through his stuff because he'll answer anything she asks him, and also about that weird piece of paper that she stole. He gets all flustered about that before admitting that he doodled it one day during a really boring meeting and he was, in fact, thinking about her. And it's so cute that she can't help but kiss him for probably the thousandth time now, not that she's counting. 

He winds up falling asleep before she does so she just watches him for a while, marveling at how pretty he is when he's not making some inhuman expression like he usually is when he's awake. And then he starts snoring, and she's abruptly reminded of why  _pretty_  and  _Rhys_  don't typically belong in the same sentence together. She adores him, she truly does, but damn his snoring is so ugly. 

At some point she figures if she actually wants to get some sleep she's either going to have to hit herself in the head with a blunt object or move somewhere else, and she doesn't really feel like giving herself a concussion so she decides to do the latter. She wanders out to his living room, picking one of the three- three!!- couches to flop down on. There's no blankets but there's tons of those useless decorative pillows so she just piles those on top of herself, shoving one of the fluffier ones underneath her head. Even though she's replaying everything that happened over and over in her mind and smiling like an idiot to herself while she does it, it's not very long before she starts to nod off. And she's  _almost_  asleep, just teetering on the boundary between consciousness and unconsciousness when she suddenly remembers she's been forgetting something very,  _very_  important. 

Rhys still has her goddamn hat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK SO... I'm putting this on hiatus until further notice until I can figure out what the hell I want to do with it, because unfortunately I didn't plan this like at all, I've literally just been winging it the whole time and it's coming back to bite me in the ass. In the meantime though, I am working on something new and exciting and very plotty with these two so watch out for that. Also I'd just like to say I read all your comments and don't reply to all of them individually for fear of sounding redundant just know I love all of you and you're the reasons I keep writing so thank you I love you I owe you all my life.


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